Marma-Lady & The Damp

I left work on Thursday afternoon like most Thursdays. Down the stairs, strapping cycle helmet up and fiddling in pockets for keys. Stepped outside and walked to the bike sheds. The sky was darkening and a light spitting of rain starting, and as I pushed in the code to get to my bike the heavens opened. Absolute downpour. I was supposed to be cycling to Ms P’s for a shopping mission, and as the rain trickled down, the thought of leaving the safe and dry-ish haven of the bike shed was not a welcome one.

I gave Ms P a ring to get her shopping list so I could go to the shops straight from work in order to save myself any unnecessary journeys and the consequential soaking that would inevitably come with it. Ms P was as sweet as anything, ‘Oh you don’t have to go out in the rain for me!’ ‘Don’t worry - I’ll be getting wet if I was going home anyway, and if I’m lucky, it might have stopped by the time I leave Tesco’s’. Shopping listed, I took a deep breath in and braved the rain. The five minutes to Tesco’s seemed to take forever, and by the time I’d reached the bike racks I was thoroughly sodden; ‘The things I do for GoodGym...’ I thought to myself, attempting to dry my glasses off but just making a smeary wet mess which in fact made seeing a bit more difficult.

A quick sprint through the rain again and I arrived to store entrance, thanking my lucky stars that there wasn’t a queue outside (last time I was here there was a substantially long line snaking the car park). A bit of an indoor queue greeted my soggy self instead, and once round the one-way system of entry past the party aisles, I was in.

Ms P’s list was short but sweet, and I efficiently made my way down the aisles seeking out sugar, finding fish fingers and hunting out ham. Another queue to pay, then I handed over a twenty pound note, bagged up the groceries and prayed the rain had stopped. Someone was looking down on me - the sun was fighting its way through the inky skies, and I managed a relatively dry ride to Ms P’s. She was glad I’d survived the journey and the rain, and glad to have her shopping. We traded my change for her £20 from a two meter distance and she waved me off for the cycle home - promising to clap for me at 8 o’clock, and keeping her fingers crossed for the rain to stay away. Her wishes came true - there was no more rain during my bike back to Hammersmith, and once I’d opened the door and gotten back home, the sky started to teem it down again. At least I only got wet-a-bit getting her weet-a-bix.